


Devil on the Run

by princess_schez



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_schez/pseuds/princess_schez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam always thought Brady was his friend, especially since that was who introduced him to Jess during his sophomore year in college. But was he ever wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil on the Run

**Author's Note:**

> Also written for the birthday girl, [](http://gidgetgal9.livejournal.com/profile)[**gidgetgal9**](http://gidgetgal9.livejournal.com/). Thanks to [](http://sendintheklowns.livejournal.com/profile)[**sendintheklowns**](http://sendintheklowns.livejournal.com/), and [](http://lisa725.livejournal.com/profile)[**lisa725**](http://lisa725.livejournal.com/), for the beta-ing!

Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly with his left hand; his right hand was still fingering the fresh blood on his forehead. It stung like a bitch, but he didn’t complain about it. He had endured worse injuries in the past. Instead, he silently groaned, wondering when exactly he had become a taxicab for wayward demons. One, he was not pleased to see – as he looked into the rearview mirror – was mucking up the backseat of his baby.

Crowley was busy carving something into the chest of the asshat he had just helped kidnap. Not that Dean felt bad for the guy. Hell, not after the beat down he’d gotten from him. He’d let Crowley knock himself out if it wasn’t for the fact that he was doing it in the backseat of his beloved car.

Dean swore to himself. It was looking more and more like this day was going to end in murder— and not his own.

“Hey, hot stuff! Watch the upholstery!” Dean growled.

“Up yours, mate,” Crowley retorted.

He was just looking for a reason to get sent back to Hell, and Dean was seriously ready to send him packing if given the chance. Risking another look back, Crowley still had his eyes on Dean, as though sensing the question on his mind.

“This here carving will tie our friend here down. No zapping off, no smoking out, locked in a meatsuit; it’s an important piece of our bargaining strategy,” the demon said with a sardonic smile. Leaning forward, he pointed to something off in the distance.

“Now, up here we don’t want I-50. Take 93 north.”

 _Oh, so now he’s giving directions?_ Dean thought bitterly. Making sure there were no oncoming cars, he took the chance to steal a quick look back again.

“What’re you talking about?”

Perhaps it was his hunter’s intuition, but something began to feel off about the whole situation. And it wasn’t just that he was lugging around two demons in the back of his car.

“Look,” Crowley began, trying to keep some semblance of patience in his voice, “we can’t take this guy back to your brother.”

“Why the hell not?”

Dean waited for a response. His intuition was going into overdrive, yet no response came. It was as though Crowley had finally decided to remain quiet. Of course it was at the worst possible time because he was dangling tantalizing information just out of Dean’s reach. He needed to know why they couldn’t go back to the dive where Sam was waiting.

Staring at him through the rearview mirror, Dean narrowed his eyes. “Crowley!” he growled again. He’d get an answer out of him one way or the other.

Crowley huffed. “They’ve got history! Alright?” he snapped before the car skidded to an abrupt stop, and he put a hand forward to keep from falling over. The covered head of the other demon lolled back and forth like an ugly balloon.

Dean didn’t care that he’d stopped in the middle of the road. They were in Nevada in the middle of friggin’ no-man’s-land. He seriously doubted anyone would be coming up any time soon.

“You want to go anywhere, you start talking. What history?”

He watched the demon think it over, regretting he had said anything. But Dean didn’t care. If it made Crowley uncomfortable, screw it. It was the least he deserved, especially after the trick he’d pulled on him earlier. Dean just wanted to know how Sammy and the other demon had a connection.

As Dean waited for a response, something began gnawing away at the pit of his stomach.

-0-

Sam looked up at the fraternity house with a slight feeling of trepidation. The sounds of raucous laughter and music met his ears as he took the few steps that led to the front door. These kinds of parties were never really his thing, but Brady had insisted he go to “enjoy the full college experience.”

And Sam secretly suspected Brady wanted to get him out of the dorm. Sam knew he had been in a funk since his recent break up with Nicole, but he’d get back on the dating horse when he was ready. That was the kind of person Sam was: not the party-to-get-over-a-broken-heart kind of guy. He’d only agreed to go to this party to humor his friend. He figured he’d stay for an hour and then leave.

“You’re gonna have so much fun!” Brady grinned, turning the handle and opening the door. Sam only managed a weak smile as he walked in, his senses quickly assaulted by the strong smell of beer and other alcohol. It wasn’t a pleasant combination by any means. Adding to it, the smell of BO made for a noxious combination, but Sam dealt with it. He'd smelled far worse things than this in his life.

The place looked like a catchall for random and bizarre things. Music posters of classical artists he didn't think frat boys would be into, like Mozart and Beethoven, decorated the walls alongside posters of rock bands, road signs, and photos of the fraternity house members. The old furniture looked like it had seen better decades, and mismatched holiday lights were strewn up here and there without much thought given to them. This was the epitome of the traditional party house, he thought.

As Sam took it all in, Brady left his side and quickly returned a few minutes later with two plastic cups in hand, one of which he handed to Sam.

“A little something to help loosen you up,” he said with a grin. “But I would advise you to stay away from the Panty-Dropper, lest you want the night to truly end up as the name suggests.”

Sam accepted the drink, taking a sip and knowing he’d have to keep an eye on his friend. It seemed – as of late – that Brady had a problem holding his liquor. He had almost wound up dropping out of Stanford because of his addiction to alcohol and sex. It had been a strange, completely uncharacteristic time for his friend, but thankfully Sam had been able to talk him into staying in college and staying on the right path.

And it was for this fact that Sam vowed to keep an eye out for his friend, whether he liked it or not.

“C’mon Sam, you haven’t said anything since arriving. You need to relax and have fun,” Brady commented, his face taking on a more serious expression.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Sam replied, looking around at some of the already drunk partiers. He recognized a few people from some of his classes. He saw friends who lived on the same floor as him and those he'd run into occasionally in the library.

“I know that look. You’re already planning on leaving, aren’t you?”

Sam turned back to his friend, who sighed exasperatedly. Throwing an arm around him, Brady cattle drove Sam to the other side of the frat house, further from the exit, and further into the debauchery.

“Sit. Stay. Have fun. That’s an order,” Brady said, leading Sam over to a large, heavily worn sectional couch where at the far end two students were busy making out.

Sam quickly glanced over before taking another swig of his beer; his friend gave him a satisfied smile before sitting on the armrest.

They remained quiet for a few minutes, taking in the atmosphere with Brady occasionally winking at the girls that passed by, a few of whom gave Sam a suggestible wink and a nod of the head as they walked by. A few of them giggled and whispered to their friends as they looked back at Sam.

Giving them a quick look before turning away, Sam watched his friend lean his head back, cup pressed to his lips, chugging down the last bit of beer before announcing amid belching, “Time to refill.”

Taking a deep breath, Sam watched as Brady disappeared into the crowd, his thoughts wandering away from the party he was supposed to be enjoying. He wasn’t a wallflower by any means, but these sorts of things weren't exactly his idea of fun. This was the sort of thing Dean would be into, he thought. He was more of the good-time guy, not him.

Dean.

The thought of his brother brought a little pang of something to his stomach. It was strange that he’d thought of Dean. They hadn’t spoken in well over a year – since just prior to starting college – but that didn’t mean he didn’t think about him from time to time as Sam experienced his taste of freedom from the life of a hunter.

He wondered how Dean was managing the rough lifestyle, if Dad was still… well, like the dad he remembered. They hadn’t ended on the best of terms. Far from it, really, considering how bad it had gotten between them.

It wasn't something he liked to think about, and his thoughts were broken when Brady returned with more booze. Sam watched him, wondering if he should tell him to take it easy with the booze. Sam had just opened his mouth when Brady spoke up.

“You’ll never believe who’s here,” his friend commented with a smirk.

“Who?” Sam asked.

“That cute, blonde girl from my economics class who I believe is also in your art history class. I’ve talked to her a few times here and there, and she’s really nice. You should go talk to her.”

Brady raised his eyebrows, giving him a meaningful look as he took a drink.

Sam looked down at his plastic cup, fingering the flimsy plastic rim with his thumb as he let out a small laugh. He should have seen this coming. “You just brought me here to hook up with a girl?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to go talk to her, now would it?”

“No, but I just don’t know if I’m ready for another girlfriend yet. Nicole and I broke up not that long ago.”

“I didn’t say you had to marry the girl, just go talk to her. Give her some of that ol’ Sam Winchester charm,” Brady added with a wide, toothy grin.

Sam looked at his friend earnestly, unsure what to say. Finally after a moment, the smile seemed to fade from his friend’s face and was replaced with a more sincere expression. “Look, if it’s too much too soon, forget I said anything,” he said genially, patting Sam on the shoulder. “I didn’t mean to push. I just want to see you happy and all. You’re my friend.”

Looking down at his half-empty cup, a dozen thoughts were swimming through Sam’s head. A part of him did want to talk to the girl; another part told him not to. He was conflicted. The minutes slowly passed by in a haze of music and beer. Finally, slapping his free palm to his thigh, he got up from the couch, still not disturbing the couple at the end.

“You’re right. What’s the harm in simply talking to her?” Sam said with a nonchalant shrug.

The smile quickly returned to Brady’s face as he got up from the couch and punched Sam gently on left arm.

“Dude, you know I’m right. Now drink your liquid courage and make with the chitchat. C’mon, I’ll introduce you two.”

The two guys – with Brady leading the way – slowly made their way through a throng of party-goers, Sam furiously thinking it over. This was something he tended to do quite often— thinking things over until there was nothing left to think about.

And generally, talking to girls often led to dates, and Sam wasn’t sure if he was ready yet, despite his friend’s assertions that it would do him good to just simply talk to a girl.

Brady – looking over and seeing the look that Sam wore when he over thought something – gave him an encouraging pat on the back and led him to where two girls were talking.

Sam vaguely recognized the dark-haired girl as a cheerleader he’d seen during the times he attended the college football games. And the other, a blonde-haired girl, he did remember seeing in his art history class. She often sat toward the front whereas he sat toward the back.

The blonde-haired girl looked up as the two guys approached, her stunning blue eyes instantly meeting Sam’s. She flashed him a bright smile as the warmness in his cheeks flushed his face. Sam sincerely hoped it wasn’t too noticeable in the dimly-lit party house.

“I’ll catch you later, Ashley,” the blonde girl said, turning back to her friend.

“No probs.”

Brady casually stepped aside to let the other girl pass by. “Jess –”

 _That's what her name was,_ Sam thought, feeling slightly embarrassed that he couldn’t remember it. He was usually very good with names.

Sam watched his friend as he continued, “– this is the friend I told you about. Sam, this is Jessica Moore. Jess, this is Sam Winchester.”

“It’s great to finally meet you, Sam,” Jess greeted, smiling more brightly as she looked up at Sam. All feeling seemed to leave his body, only to be replaced by a cold chill that swept through him – unnoticed by anyone else it seemed.

Ignoring the weird sensation, he gave her a warm smile in return, any and all doubts he had earlier quickly vanishing into thin air. The funk he’d been in slowly lifted from his thoughts and feelings.

“It’s great to meet you too, Jessica,” Sam replied, unaware that Brady had now left them alone.

“Call me Jess, please, I insist,” she replied. “Your friend Brady told me a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope.”

Sam gave an embarrassed sort of chuckle, his face still feeling warm. He worried that what he just said sounded really stupid. He took a sip of beer, hoping it would help him not to make an ass out of himself, and not the other way around.

“He tells me you want to be a lawyer. Sounds dark and dangerous,” she added with a wink, the intoxicating smile never leaving her face.

Sam laughed a little more loudly this time. “Yeah, lawyers are like the seedy underbelly of the justice world.”

It was Jess’ turn to laugh out loud now, a laugh that sounded like sweet music to Sam’s ears in lieu of the shrill music in the house. “I’m sure you’d make a great one.”

“Great as a seedy underbelly?” Sam joked. He took his eyes off her and looked around the room for a moment before finally realizing that Brady was gone. For a moment he wondered where he’d gone off to.

But the thought didn’t last long. “Nothing wrong with that,” she added with a wink.

“Suppose not.” Sam smirked as he looked down into his cup. She was quite pretty, he thought, and very easy to talk to. Some girls he’d talked to had to have the conversation almost dragged out of them, but it didn’t seem to be that way with her.

And most of all, he felt totally at ease with her, which was something since he was never one to feel that way with people he’d just met.

One of the partiers turned up the stereo to even louder levels, and the music in the house was becoming uncomfortable as it thumped painfully inside his head. Jess started looking uncomfortable, too, as she covered her ears.

“You wanna head outside?” she asked, her voice getting louder with each word she spoke. “It might be quieter.”

“Let’s hope!” Sam yelled back.

They walked outside together with their eardrums pounding from the heavy bass in the music. It was quieter outside, but it still took a few minutes for their ears to stop ringing.

Jess sat down on the steps. Sam was going to follow, but he wasn’t sure if he should sit next to her or not. He opted instead to stand.

She looked up, patting the vacant spot next to her. “It’s okay, I don’t bite,” she said lightheartedly.

Brushing his hair out of his face, he took her invitation and sat down next to her, his long legs jutting out past the steps and onto the grass. The long legs that Dean had given him a hard time about growing up.

He let out a chuckle, feeling much better than he had upon entering the party. Somehow, this just seemed … right, like his life was right where it should be. And as cheesy as it sounded, he felt that this right here was like divine intervention.

“My brother always said I was freakishly tall,” he said, indicating his long legs.

Jess chuckled. “So, what’s your brother like?”

-0-

Sam stared blankly ahead – hardly paying attention to anything around him – even the road ahead – as Dean continued driving down the deserted Nevada road.

Dean quickly shot a look over at his brother; the look on Sam’s face was unreadable. He had been unusually quiet, but Dean knew exactly what his brother was thinking. It was a privilege that brothers could tell what the other was thinking or feeling without having to say it. And right now, though Sam’s face read like a blank expression, Dean knew the thoughts engulfing him centered on Brady.

Brady. The person Sam thought was his friend. The person who had introduced his brother to Jessica, the love of his life. And it was this person who would take that all away from him.

Life was cold. Cruel. And nobody knew that more than the Winchesters did, and Dean sorely wished he could take away some of the hurt and pain his brother was feeling. The only thing he could do now was try and prod Sam into talking about it instead of keeping it bottled up inside.

In a way, it was like déjà vu. Sam had once tried to prod Dean to open up about his time in Hell, and now Dean was going to prod Sam to open up about this new revelation about his once best friend.

Pulling the car over to the side of the road, Dean gave his brother a thoughtful look, thinking about how best to approach the subject. When Sam wasn’t in the mood to talk, he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Dean took a deep breath and dove right in.

“Look, Sam, I know you probably don’t want to talk about this, but it might help to get it off your chest. You know bottling things up never turns out well in this family.”

Dean tried to make the atmosphere a bit lighter, but Sam continued to stare ahead, saying nothing, so Dean pushed on.

“You have every right to be pissed. That asshat deserved everything he got — and more. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through this alone. You’re my brother, Sammy, and I’m here for you. You want to talk, bitch, kvetch, whatever, I’ll listen.”

Sam looked over at his brother, sadness and anger hiding underneath the surface. He appreciated Dean being there for him, he really did. But his heart and soul had been ripped from him the moment he saw Jess pinned to the ceiling, bleeding from her abdomen. And finding out that Brady – the person he considered a friend – was behind her death was a double whammy. It was like adding salt to an open and festering wound. But now he was dead, and Sam felt no remorse for it whatsoever.

Old scars that had healed were open once more. His eyes felt moist, but he willed himself not to let the tears fall. He wasn’t going to cry. Sam stifled it as best as he could. But the thought was beginning to form inside his mind that maybe he didn't have control over his own life, not like he thought he had.

 _So much for Team Free Will,_ he thought bitterly. It seemed to him that, maybe, they weren’t in charge of their destinies after all. They were really just pawns in the otherworldly chess match between the angels and demons. Chuck was right; it did suck ass.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said finally, his voice hoarse from not having spoken in so long. Sam knew it would be a while until he was ready to talk about this, but he was grateful for the chance to just let it out when he was ready. He wanted to give his brother a grateful smile, but the best he could muster was a small crack of his lips. It just felt too painful right now to actually smile.

Dean patted Sam on the shoulder with his free hand before moving it back to the steering wheel. He would always be there for him, like the annoying older brother he was, he thought with a small smile on his face. Pulling away from the side of the road, Dean continued on their journey. It was time to head back to Bobby’s.

Sam sighed as he remembered the feelings he’d had when he’d first met Jessica. He remembered it as clearly as though it was yesterday: the feeling that maybe, just maybe, things were finally starting to look up for him. That maybe his prayers for a normal life were finally being answered by the higher power he always believed in and prayed to. But those prayers went straight to Hell with the flames that encompassed the body of his dead girlfriend.

He was dead tired, emotionally and physically. He was tired of all the crap that was always heaped on him and his brother. Tired of the guilt he felt for starting the Apocalypse. If it meant becoming Lucifer’s vessel to take him down, to end it, then it seemed like the only option. At least he’d go down in a blaze of glory.

It was all he had to look forward to.  



End file.
